


Desire Lines

by solongsun



Category: Dir en grey
Genre: Changing Tenses, Drugs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 12:52:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13365102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solongsun/pseuds/solongsun
Summary: Underneath our skin, we're all the same. Under our muscles and our bones we're all just exactly the same: blood, hope, and desire lines, crossing over us all and running at parallels.Never touching until we meet, and there they intersect.And they form new angles.





	Desire Lines

**Author's Note:**

> This was first written a number of years ago. I still don't know if I like it or not. But, I do like Die/Kyo. So, let's have some more of that.
> 
> The tenses flip back and forth between past and present quite a bit. The idea I had for this small fic was really just about living a life where every day seems to be layered on top of the other, and your experiences - good or bad - seem to be blending into each other, as if each day is essentially the same. It kind of grew around that. So. 
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think if you have a minute. BYE.

Last night I dreamt it was summer again.

A sweet summer night.

I spent it stripped to the sheets.

It was too hot to touch you, your skin sticky, but I did it anyway.

You smiled into the curve of my neck, fingers chasing the lines and colours of my tattoos until my eyes blurred and the ink bled into my skin; until I was laying you down and your lips were moving:

_What kind of person lets somebody draw all over their body?_

This kind of person.

You put the world into sets of two, decks of cards with red suits, black suits, light and dark, marriages, twins. In every set there's the difficult opposites: me flat on my back and you jittering at the window; the sun and moon sharing the same sky but never meeting. I can hear it like a voice from the earth, from the clock, from your anxiously drumming fingers: you're not going to get tired. Crossing and uncrossing your long legs, braiding and unbraiding your long hair.

_It's too hot. I want— let's go—_

I know, I know. Your quick feet, your smooth skin. Feet have to move and skin has to breathe.

So we go for a walk around the financial streets.

You have glittering, hectic eyes.

Where the air is so still because the buildings sleep.

 

Last night I dreamt it was summer again.

Toxic orange city skies. Glowing sick. You smiled and lit a cigarette.

Even in my dreams, you're never exactly perfect. You itch and stutter over excited words, your eyes blink frantic, you smoke—

_You smoke._

Yeah, well, do as I say and not as I do.

Were my pupils dilated? Could you tell that I liked you?

If I could I'd preserve you behind glass; wrap you up in plastic. I hear your voice in my head and my own Kyoto drawl fades over it, in and out; my whole head like a badly tuned radio, wincing on and off like a migraine.

Outside. Fenced in by buildings with empty windows and an opaque sky.

You dance to the songs from the cars as they pass, shooting static.

Shooting up.

Your nimble feet against heated pavements that smell like they've been sucking up sun and car exhaust and rubber soles all day; the breeze takes the summertime stink of soot and metal and trash in piles.

Your flushed cheek close to mine, your hands gentle around my face. I can feel the little pulses beating in your fingers and your lips move against my ear as you whisper to me: _don't cool off._

_I like your warmth._

You have long musician's fingers. They're slipping under my shirt in a side alley, rough brick against my back, pushing at each vertebrae; they're easing my clothes out of the way and freeing my hot skin to the night. In a quiet neighbourhood where people are living without wings, you ease my pants down to my knees and bite down on my lower lip, drawing blood.

_Don't cool off._

I taste your hot, sweet mouth. Your hands glide on my sweaty skin, fist around the most desperate part of me; you bite my neck. I tug at your zip, feel you rise into my hand; feel you push against my palm.

My head falls back and the scene jolts as you slide to your knees. Your tongue pushes against me, hot and wet; you make swallowing noises in your throat; your hand squeezes your own cock. You make me hard enough to ache and I spit your name out, hiss it, say it.

A car rushes by. Your hand against my lips. Your other hand on your dick. Your mouth on my cock.

You're streamlining.

Mainlining.

Times like this, we're almost in love.

 

Last night I dreamt it was summer again.

Woke up on a bed of nails.

Turned to you scratching your arms bloody and disturbing the sleep-thick air with your shivers, your jaggedness, gritting your teeth and flashing sad, hateful eyes at me, and spitting

_I can't do this any more._

And crying _I can't do this any more._

And begging _please, come on, please. Just one more time._

Smiling at me desperately, tears on your eyelashes, each one a separate damp spike, kissing my cheeks.

_You know you want to_.

Every day is a hangover.

You settle your long body over mine and I wipe away the sweat beading your forehead. It's not in my nature to be patient or gentle, but I try. You kiss me softly, your warm lips sticking to mine; you whisper beautiful lies in my deaf left ear.

Mumble _touch me_ against my lips. Tendrils of your damp hair tickle my face, my collarbones, my chest. I watch your tongue trace the muscles there and think how weak I am in spite of it all.

 

Underneath our skin, we're all the same. Under our muscles and our bones we're all just exactly the same: blood, hope, and desire lines, crossing over us all and running at parallels.

Never touching until we meet, and there they intersect.

And they form new angles.

 

I wake you up in the middle of the night to express an idea to you.

You groan soft and grind against me, long fingers inside my body, touching. You laugh when I get impatient, a familiar laugh. Your tongue licks a long line along my neck as your dick pushes inside me, and you rest your forehead against mine.

Everything is pressed into a moment. Every touch. Every fuck we've had together, being here at the same time, all in a long slow time lapse. I reach out, moan, smother my own desperate words against your neck.

You catch me off guard by smiling, the sweet boy you used to be flashing behind your eyes as you fuck me, and I'm free-falling.

Freebasing.

The needle tracks blur on your arms.

Wind around me, tight as a tourniquet as I clutch at your back, leaving my own marks, calling you by your name. You grip my legs, stroke my cock, thrust into me hard; I pull our bodies closer together and you tangle your hand in my hair. We battle; I win, I pin you down, ride you; cum on your neck and your face.

I lick and kiss your spattered lips and I lie myself down next to you.

Naked, I can feel all of you.

 

Last night I dreamt it was summer again.

You and I were on the pier and you were ducking in and out of the shadows, grinning that same old stupid, love-me grin, sunlight unfolding in your hair. We heard the sea. You licked the salt from my lips, held my hand as the seagulls squalled.

_Kyo_. Kicking me gently, squeezing my fingers. _I love you._

Yeah, well, I love you too.

Sweet eyes. Smooth smile against my temple, and your forehead knocking tenderly against mine.

_Forever?_

Yeah, forever.

You took me home.

 

You take me home, and when the sun goes down we'll go out again.

 


End file.
